Sunday, 18 February 2018

Jemima

by Carolyn Belcher

warm milk

Jemima was sitting on the bottom step of the
stairs. She had her ‘hopeful’ coat on. It was the coat she hoped her mother
wouldn’t make her take off. Her mother didn’t like the coat. Jemima did. It was
red. Red was Jemima’s favourite colour. Mummy had said the coat was too small.
It was to be put away for the baby who was in her mother’s tummy. Sometimes
Jemima wondered how the baby had got there. Mummy had said something about eggs.
Jemima liked eggs, particularly a dippy egg with soldiers.

‘Please can I come with you?’

‘Do you promise to be good?’

‘Yes?’ There was a question in Jemima’s voice as
though she wasn’t quite sure what good meant when you went shopping. Jemima
liked shopping. The supermarket was full of exciting things to buy and
interesting people to help. Jemima liked helping people.

Her mother didn’t seem to notice the question in
her voice. Nor did she notice the coat. She was too busy looking for her car
keys. ‘Where did I put them?’ she said in her impatient voice.

‘Daddy says--’

‘I know what Daddy says, put them on a hook in the
key cupboard. But sometimes my mind doesn’t work like that, especially when I’m
in a hurry.’

Jemima knew all about minds working in one way and
then another. One day, Jemima’s mind told her she did like brussel sprouts and
the next day it said, ‘yuk.’

‘Oh here they are.’ Her mother pulled the keys out
of her coat pocket. ‘Right, we’re ready.’

‘Are you going to do a big shop or a small shop?’
asked Jemima.

‘What day is it?’

Jemima screwed up her face. ‘Now let me see,’ she
said. ‘I’m going to nursery school this afternoon, so that means,’ she ticked
the days off on her fingers. ‘Monday, Wednesday or Friday.’ On Tuesdays and
Thursdays I go to nursery school in the morning. I think Monday was a long time
ago.’ She put her finger on her lips. ‘Is it Wednesday? No. On Wednesday I went
to Sarah’s house for tea. It’s Friday. And on Fridays you always do a big shop.
Am I right?’

‘You are a very clever four year old, Jemima
Wiggins. Get in the car, please.’

‘Which shop are we going to, Mummy?’

There were two supermarkets in the town where
Jemima lived. One was near all the other shops. The other was near lots of
houses with very small gardens. Jemima was glad that she, her mother and father
didn’t live there. Her house had a long garden with a tyre swing hanging from a
tree at the bottom. Nana said there were fairies at the bottom of the garden.
Jemima hadn’t ever seen one. But sometimes she saw grasses or leaves on bushes
move when there was no wind, and she thought, that must be the fairies. They’re
hiding from me.

‘We’re going to the supermarket where they sell
clothes, Jemima. I could do with some new leggings for pilates and you could do
with some pyjamas.’

‘Can I choose them?’

‘Of course.’

‘Can I choose your leggings?’

‘Yes, as long as they’re black.’

Jemima pulled a face. I don’t like black. I like
red.’

‘I need black,’ said her mother.

In the supermarket Jemima said, ‘Can we do jamies and leggings
first?’

‘I think that’s a very good idea,’ said her
mother, and pushed the trolley over to the aisle where they sold trousers.

Jemima hung back. She had noticed a woman looking
at some tops. The woman picked up a white top. It had lacy sleeves. It was
pretty, but Jemima knew that it wouldn’t look nice on the woman. She had to help
her. The woman would be sad and cross if she bought it. Jemima didn’t like
feeling sad or cross. She felt sad when Sarah didn’t want to play with her. She
felt cross when her father wouldn’t push her on the tyre swing. He told her she
had her, worm, face on. Her worm face was the one in the
rhyme.

Nobody likes me. Everybody hates
me.

I’m going down the garden to eat
worms.

She went up to the woman and
tapped her on the arm.

The woman jumped. ‘Are you lost, dear?’ she
said.

‘No,’ said Jemima. ‘My mummy’s over there.’ She
pointed to the trouser aisle. ‘I like helping people to choose. That top is nice
but it won’t look nice on you.’ She shook her head. ‘It will make you
look--’

‘Jemima come here at once. I am so sorry,’ said
Jemima’s mother. Her mother had her cross face on. She took Jemima’s hand.
‘You’re going to help me look for leggings. That lady wants to choose her own
clothes without your help.’

‘See Mummy?’ Jemima had her happy face on. ‘People
like me to help them. That lady has a big bottom and a big tummy. Her tummy is
bigger than yours. The white top will be here.’ She pointed to the middle of her
mother’s belly. ‘She would show people her big tummy. I don’t think people like
seeing big tummies.’

Jemima knew that her mother’s tummy was big
because of the baby in it. Sometimes the baby slept in her mother’s tummy and
sometimes he kicked. You couldn’t see the baby doing that, but her mother let
her feel the baby moving and said, ‘there. Can you feel that kick? I think he’s
going to be a footballer with a kick like that.’

The first time she had felt Tyler, that was going
to be his name, kick, she had asked her mother if it hurt? Her mother had shaken
her head and said, no. Jemima wondered why. When James kicked her leg it hurt.
James was a boy in nursery school.

‘The lady should buy the red or blue top.’ she
squirmed round. ‘Perhaps she’s got a baby in her tummy, or her bottom. Can
babies be in bottoms?’

Her mother squatted down. ‘No, babies can’t be in
bottoms, and you promised to be good, Jemima.’

‘I am being good. I was helping. I wanted her to
buy the blue one or the red one. They are better for people with big tummies and
bottoms.’

‘It isn’t good to tell people that the clothing
they want to buy will make them look fat?’

‘Why?’

‘Because it’s rude. Come and choose your pyjamas,’

‘I thought we were going to choose your leggings
first.’

‘We were. But I think we’ll do that
after.’

‘I’d like red jamies.”

There weren’t any red pyjamas. But they found some
pink ones with red hearts on them and pink was almost as good as red. Then they
found her mummy some black leggings and made their way to the groceries’ aisles.
Jemima’s mother told her to stay close to the trolley. ‘I don’t want you to get
lost,’ she said. Jemima liked the word, groceries. It was a growly word.
Sometimes, when she was on her own in her bedroom, she practised growly words,
making them sound like a lion. Grrrroceries, grrrapes, grrrrumpy,
grrrrizzle.

‘Can we buy some growly grrrrapes?’ she
said.

‘What are growly grapes?’ her mother
asked.

‘Green ones, red ones.’

‘But why growly?’

‘Because of the grrrrr,’ said Jemima. ‘Buy
grrrreen grrrrapes.’

Her mother laughed. ‘You funny ha’p’orth? Did you
hear what I said about staying close to the trolley?’

‘Yes. I won’t get lost.’ She wondered why her
mother thought she might get lost. The grrrocery aisles went up and down. It was
very difficult to get lost.

‘Fruit and veg first then.’ her mother said.

It took time. Jemima’s mother was a careful
shopper. She checked everything she picked up before putting them in the
trolley. When she was buying packets of things like biscuits, she always checked
for e numbers. Jemima knew what e numbers were. They were things that were added
to food or drinks in packets or tins or bottles or ready meals. Some e numbers
were good and some were bad. Some made children too excited and silly.

Because Jemima’s mother took her time shopping, it
was easy for Jemima to look around to see if there was anyone else who needed
help. Soon, she wasn’t at all close to the trolley. She was near a lady who
looked as though she was as old as Jemima’s great-granny. The old lady was
looking at apples. Red apples, green apples, yellow apples and apples that were
all three colours. Apples were not Jemima’s favourite fruit. She liked satsumas
and grrrapes and strawberries best. Satsumas didn’t growl, but strrrrawberries
did.

Jemima decided that the old lady would find it
difficult to eat an apple. Satsumas would be better. Satsumas were easy to peel
and felt soft and juicy in your mouth. Jemima’s great granny liked satsumas. She
popped a bag of satsumas into the old lady’s trolly when she wasn’t looking and
then skipped back to her mother feeling very pleased that she had helped another
shopper.

In the next aisle Jemima helped a man to a packet
of sausages. He had eggs and bacon in his trolley. Eggs, bacon and sausages were
yummy together, especially when Jemima was allowed to help herself to tomato
ketchup. If the man had children, they would be happy that Jemima had helped him
to sausages. Perhaps she ought to go to the sauce aisle and find the ketchup?
But she saw that her mother wasn’t in the meat isle any longer. Hunt the mummy,
she told herself and skipped to the end of the aisle. ‘No, she wasn’t in the
next aisle, nor the next, then she saw her in the aisle where there were lots of
disposables. That is what her mother called nappies and things like
that.

‘What are you looking for, Mummy?’ she
asked.

‘Pads.’ said her mother.

The only pads that Jemima knew were pads to draw
on. Nothing on the shelves in this aisle looked like a pad you could draw
on.

‘Pads are near crayons,’ she said.

‘Not drawing pads. Pads for older
people.’

Were drawing pads for older people in plastic
packets that looked like packets of nappies, only smaller? ‘Pads for older
people,’ said Jemima in a thinking voice.

Her mother looked at her. ‘Your great granny needs
pads like this,’ she held up a packet. ‘They’re to keep her dry. Sometimes when
you’re old you wet yourself a bit if you cough or laugh.’

‘I don’t wet myself when I cough or laugh. I
sometimes wet myself if I forget to go to the toilet because I’m happy
playing.’

‘Yes you do,’ her mother said. ‘And that reminds
me, do you need to do a wee now?’

Jemima shook her head. She decided to look for an
old person who might need pads. She
glanced round. An old man was pottering down the aisle towards them. Did old men
need pads? She decided to help him, just in case. She chose a packet, one that
she could reach and when he was looking at toilet rolls she popped it in his
trolley.